Wizard DATAmatch
by lilkyonkyon
Summary: (or In Which Hermione Granger Completely Loses It.) This is not a love story. Not in the slightest. It is, in fact, a hate story, for you see, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy hated each other very much. Implied Dramione. Rated for language. Further summary inside.
1. Part I

**Title:** Wizard DATAmatch, or In Which Hermione Granger Completely Loses It

 **Setting:** Slight AR; Book 6 (Draco has not been doing horrible things)

 **Summary:** All Hogwarts students fourth year and up are required to take a "revolutionary new quiz" that Dumbledore discovered the last time he ventured into the Muggle world. Little does everyone know that the results will have stranger consequences than they could have bargained for — the person with the closest match to their answers will be their partner for the new ball. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, on a whim, decide to make a bet on who can kiss their partner first. But that was _before_ they discovered their partners.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. DATAmatch is something we used at my high school. Yup. It's a fundraiser. You can look it up.

" **Wizard DATAmatch"**

 **(or "In Which Hermione Granger Completely Loses It")**

 **Part I**

This is not a love story.

Not in the slightest.

It is, in fact, a hate story, for you see, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy hated each other very much. They hated each other so much, they could not be near each other without fighting, usually verbally, although sometimes physically.

Why, you ask? Some say it was due to obligation, since Hermione and Draco were in rival houses at Hogwarts. Some say it was their friends that were the problem, as it was quite plain that Draco did not converse with hers, and Hermione was certainly not about to have afternoon tea with his. Whatever the case, they simply did not get along.

But due to one of Dumbledore's whimsical caprices, these two mismatched students were brought together in a rather odd way. Their story begins on a not-so-average fall day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry . . . .

There was uproar in the Gryffindor common room that evening. An announcement had appeared on the bulletin about a "revolutionary new quiz" Dumbledore had found the last time he had ventured into the Muggle world. Every student fourth year and up was required to take the exam and return it before the week was out. When Hermione read the title, she scoffed.

"'DataMatch.' My cousin did that when she was in high school — it's hardly revolutionary."

Ron glanced over at her and laughed. "What Hermione, scared you're going to fail this one?" She was about to tell him that it was impossible to fail because it was a personality test when Harry cut in.

" _Why_ is Dumbledore making us take this quiz?" he inquired, slightly concerned. The headmaster, after all, was liable to do anything with the results. For a moment, each of them had very frightening mental images pop into their heads, but Hermione shrugged her shoulders and reassured them that nothing horrible would happen.

"Let's just take the quiz and hope for the best."

Oh, if only she had known the consequences.

The trio grabbed a quiz each and settled down in random places across the common room to complete the form. Hermione was lucky enough to get a cushy armchair by the fire. She produced a quill from thin air and began the test.

 _1) If I were a color, I would be_

 _a) Tickle-me pink_

 _b) Ink black_

 _c) Solid gold_

 _d) Navy blue_

Hermione raised an eyebrow. If memory served her correctly, these tests had not gotten any better, not in the slightest. Disappointed, she circled b (the most sensible) and flew through the rest of the test, hardly bothering to read the questions. She turned it in, and promptly forgot about it once her head hit the pillow.

In fact, she didn't remember the test at all until a fortnight later, when, during dinner, whispers of the results began to fly. "I heard from a Hufflepuff they're determining our class placements next year," Ginny said carelessly as she buttered her bread. "But Seamus told me it was a test that determines what job you'd like when you grow up. Said Dumbledore was going to use the results for apprenticeships."

"They're both wrong," Lavender chimed in. "I heard we were being paired with our soul mates."

Hermione snorted. "That's ridiculous. They're personality tests, and poor ones at that. My cousin's school used it as a fundraiser for a dance."

"I was just _saying_ ," Lavender began, getting annoyed, but Dumbledore stood up, causing everyone in the hall to fall silent.

"The results of the tests are in, and now it is time for the Wizard DATAmatch Ball!" he announced thunderously. Only a few people applauded; the rest were too shocked or confused. Did he honestly mean to say that there would be a ball from the test they had all filled in at random? "The Sorting Hat and I were having a conversation awhile back about the lack of inter-house unity we have here at Hogwarts. That's why, a month from this Saturday, every student in the school, fourth year and up, will attend the Wizard DATAmatch Ball with a partner from a different house. That partner has already been chosen for all the students here, based on the results of the test."

Hermione saw white. Maybe that's what people saw when they fainted, or when they were about to die. She would've liked that. Dying. It probably would've saved her from a worse fate. She couldn't picture herself with anyone outside of her house. Macmillan? Awful. Boot? Atrocious. She couldn't even come up with adjectives for some of them (like Goyle, who would best be described with a primeval scream). But maybe her overly-sensible answers would save her from a terrible fate. Colour returned to her vision, and as Hermione focused on the Headmaster again, she hoped with all her heart that her partner would prove to be a miraculously perfect match.

Here's to hope.

". . . and I will announce the partners after dessert. The younger years may stay to watch." His eyes twinkled as he seated himself.

The Great Hall burst into hysterics as soon as his bum touched the chair. "Another ball?" Ron groaned. "The last one was absolute torture!"

"I thought it was quite nice," Hermione admitted loftily, though she started to blush a bit. She'd had a date that she actually got along with, for one, and they'd had a relatively nice time until one Ronald Weasley had spoiled it fantastically with his stubbornness. She'd grown up quite a bit from the ordeal, however. While she still had feelings for her dear friend, she was perfectly capable of ignoring them if opportunity called for it. She took a small cookie. "Besides, I think Dumbledore's right. There's far too little house unity. Even the Hufflepuffs keep to themselves anymore."

"It's still a bloody stupid idea, if you ask me," Ron said. "A game night would've been much more fun. Or a Quidditch tourney, with mixed teams."

"Well, we could make this dance more . . . interesting," Harry interjected with a sly grin.

Ron blinked at him. "How's that?"

"How about a bet? Whoever kisses their date first gets a few thousand galleons-worth of stuff from Hogsmede."

"Where're we getting the money?" Hermione inquired. "I certainly don't have it."

"Remember the bag of Galleons I gave to Fred and George after the Triwizard Tournament? They paid me back in the end, so we can use that money."

"Harry, that's _your_ money," Ron asserted. "You shouldn't toss it about like that."

"It's not my money, it's _our_ money. We all worked for it, and we're going to compete for it," Harry said with an air of finality. "Think of it as our very own Triwizard Tournament."

Ron seemed to warm to the idea after that, but Hermione still felt uncomfortable. "Isn't that kind of . . . I don't know, manipulative? What if we're paired with someone that fancies us, and we trick the person?"

"Hermione, please," Harry replied, laughing slightly. "Did you read that test? What are the chances we're going to get paired with someone we even know, much less someone that fancies one of us?"

She sighed, but finally gave in as Dumbledore rose to address the students once again. "Now the time has come for us to announce who will be paired with whom," he smiled. A list appeared in his hand and he cleared his throat. "When your name is announced, please rise and join your new partner at the front of the Great Hall. There you will link arms and accompany each other into the corridor." Judging by the apathetic faces of the faculty, this was all Dumbledore's idea. _No surprise there_ , Hermione thought wryly. "After all the names are called, we will come back in here to discuss the proper preparations for the ball. Is everyone ready?" He peered at the crowd over his half-moon spectacles, then offered a small smile as he read, "Miss Susan Bones and Mister Terrence Boot."

A Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw. In the very first couple. Hermione should have known that things were about to get much worse, but she was distracted by Harry's and Ron's laughter. "Look at his face," they wheezed. "He doesn't know what to do!"

Well, he did look rather foolish. He was gaping like a ghoul. Hermione allowed herself a small smile, but hushed them when Dumbledore read the next pair. This time, it was a Ravenclaw girl with Dean Thomas. And the list went on. Bookish Ravenclaws with outgoing Gryffindors, fun-loving Hufflepuffs with humourless Slytherins. The worst was when Slytherins were paired with Gryffindors.

Point in case:

Dumbledore waited for the last couple (a Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff) to exit the Great Hall before he read the next couple. "Miss Millicent Bulstrode and Mister Ronald Weasley."

Ron's jaw dropped and his face immediately took on the colour of a seasick slug. "He didn't say that," he whispered to himself. "This isn't happening."

It _was_ happening. Harry laughed in a good-thing-it's-you-and-not-me way before he gave Ron a shove in the right (or horribly wrong) direction. When Ron finally joined Bulstrode at the front of the Great Hall, she grabbed his arm and smiled, although it appeared to be more of a grimace. As for her partner, he looked like he might never be happy again. Unless he died, maybe. And when Dumbledore told the two that they could join the others out in the corridor, it was Bulstrode that took Ron's arm into a death-grip and led him out. When he passed by Harry and Hermione, he shot them a despairing look and mouthed, "Kill me now." Harry was crying from laughter.

When the door shut behind them, Dumbledore waited patiently for the buzz to die down. He adjusted his spectacles, and smiled faintly as he read the next pair. "Miss Hermione Granger and Mister Draco Malfoy."

" _What_?" Hermione and Malfoy shouted at the exact same time, then they both shot sizzling glares at each other. The hall erupted into chaos, as it was common knowledge that Malfoy and Hermione going to a dance together was an event akin to Professor Umbridge and Harry Potter becoming pen pals. She tried pushing herself to her feet, but Ginny had to help part of the way, as her legs were too weak to support her own weight. The walk to the front of the Great Hall was a blur. It seemed as if the floor had been converted into a mud field. Hermione's feet dragged beneath her. She remembered seeing Harry torn between rolling around on the floor and punching Malfoy pre-emptively. A few girls were enviously staring, and a select few appeared to be swearing at her. She kept her eyes locked bravely ahead of her, and tried not to cry. It took all of her effort to climb the step at the front of the Great Hall. When she turned, she was assaulted with all the jeers from the Slytherin table. The only thing that made her feel better was the equal amount of hissing directed at Malfoy from the Gryffindor table.

Speaking of which, Malfoy was standing right beside her, trying his best not to lean too close. From behind them, Dumbledore said, "Now now, Mister Malfoy, don't be shy. Offer your arm."

Hermione gulped. She fancied that she heard her "partner" do the same beside her. After a moment, the crook of his arm rose next to her, and she took it just as cautiously. The pair descended the first step and began a sluggish sweep to the back of the room as insults and laughter bombarded them on either side. Hermione didn't know whether to hide behind him or drop his arm and flee.

As soon as they exited the Great Hall, they released each other and jumped away. Malfoy was furiously scrubbing at his robes. "I can't believe this! How could I end up with a filthy mudblood like you?" he spat.

"And how could I end up with a stuck-up plank like you?" she retorted, half-frantic. "You're such a condescending prat!"

"You're a bushy-browed Potter worshiper!" He turned on his heel and headed for the other couples, but she strode after him angrily.

"I do not _worship_ Harry! We're friends!"

"Is that what they call it now?"

She made a noise that sounded vaguely like a war cry. When Malfoy turned, he saw Hermione leaping straight at his face, her fingers positioned like claws. He, of course, yelped and ducked, and she went flying past him, straight into Ron. The two toppled to the floor in a heap.

"Oy, Hermione, what the hell?" the boy grumbled, massaging the crown of his head, but she was already back on her feet and lunging towards Malfoy.

"I'm _never_ going to the dance with you! I don't care what they do to me!" she screamed. Malfoy was only just dodging her attacks, but it was simply a matter of time before Hermione remembered that she was a witch and would hex him until he couldn't walk straight (or walk at all). It took her about thirty seconds. "Aha!" Just as she was about to draw her wand, the doors of the Great Hall burst open and Pansy Parkinson dashed dramatically across the corridor in front of a helpless-looking Neville Longbottom.

"Draco!" she wailed, latching herself onto his waist and bursting into sloppy tears. Malfoy panicked a bit and tried to shove the girl off, especially after Hermione smiled. Her enemy was pinned, and they both knew it. She raised her wand to start a very long, very painful string of hexes and curses.

Neville stepped in her way. "No, wait Hermione! What if someone sees you?"

"Get out of the way, Neville! You ruin everything!"

Ron appeared beside her like the devil on her left shoulder. "Do it, Hermione!" he chanted, even as Neville tried to block her vision. Fortunately for Malfoy, the Great Hall's doors swung open again, and Harry marched in escorting, of all people, Luna Lovegood. It made Hermione forget her predicament completely. In fact, _everyone_ stopped. "Ron, Hermione, Neville," Harry said, nodding to each of them in turn. The three of them stared back blankly. He grinned. Luna was busy watching Parkinson cry herself silly on Malfoy's robe. "Is there a binaput around here? Is that why she's crying?" she asked him.

"Maybe," he said.

Hermione's jaw dropped.

"How'd you get so lucky?" Ron finally managed to say, wistful.

Harry's good fortune had banished all of Hermione's anger, and the Trio chose to quietly sit down against the far wall of the corridor, watching each new couple step in every few minutes. They saw Ginny with a rather stuffy Ravenclaw, and Colin Creevy had managed to partner up with a shy-looking Hufflepuff. No one really looked happy, except Harry, who was glad that he could at least have a passing conversation with his partner. When the last partnership came out (Blaise Zabini and Padma Patil) the students slowly filed back into the hall, were the professors were waiting for them with a smile. Well, Dumbledore was smiling, at least.

"Everyone find a seat with your partner," he announced. Since no one liked their partner except Harry, it took a great deal of time for them to re-find one another and take a seat, but Dumbledore was unfailingly patient. Hermione had no trouble at all finding Malfoy. His white-blond hair stuck out in the crowd like Hagrid in Diagon Alley. He caught her eyes at the same moment, and they walked towards each other as if every instinct were telling them to run the other way.

Now the problem was where to sit. Because there was no bloody way Hermione would sit with the Slytherins, and obviously Malfoy felt the same about Gryffindors. They glared at each other briefly, mutely exchanging this information via the evil eye, and Hermione gestured to the Hufflepuff table as a truce. Malfoy looked at it, sneered and said very plainly, "No." He then seized her wrist and dragged her over to the Slytherin table. Hermione, since her struggling did no good and she didn't want to curse him in front of the teachers, decided she would take the highroad. He sat and pulled her down next to him, and neither said a word as they waited for the rest of the students to settle down. Ron and Bulstrode sat nearby, and he shot Hermione a sympathetic look that meant, "Let's run away together."

She shrugged back sadly.

Dumbledore talked briefly about the ball, including appropriate behaviour and dress. There would be a meal served at the beginning, and then dancing afterwards. Each person was expected to stay with their assigned partner the entire night. "Hopefully, each of you will reach a new understanding about your partner," he intoned, "and, by extension, his or her house." Hermione seriously doubted that she would 'reach a new understanding' about anything, especially when her partner couldn't reach a new understanding of the appropriate use of hair gel. The ball, thank Merlin, was a month from this coming Saturday, so Hermione had a reasonable amount of time to contemplate breaking a limb and escape attending (it didn't necessarily have to be hers, either).

The speech ended with polite applause, and all the students were dismissed to their dormitories. Most practically sprinted from their partners. Hermione was one of the fastest, only beaten by Ron, who seemed to have Apparated outside of the Great Hall and taken off running. They both arrived, panting and sweating, in the Gryffindor common room, where they began to lament their bad luck.

"He's just so awful to me," Hermione groaned, as Ron dissented, "At least he doesn't look like an ogre's lovechild." They alternately argued and grieved in this manner until Harry plopped into the armchair across from them.

"Looks like I'm winning this bet," he grinned.

"Just because you got lucky —" Ron started, but Harry's laughter cut him off.

"I was joshing. You two still have a chance. It might even be harder for me because Luna is just a friend." Ron and Hermione shot him a look, causing him to cringe. "Fine, fine. It's _not_ harder. I was only trying to make you two feel better."

"The only thing that could make me feel better is a lethal dose of fire whisky," Ron grumbled.

Hermione silently agreed. How had her own test matched Malfoy's better than anyone else's? Even if she was rushing through the questions, she couldn't fathom his responses being comparable to hers. Maybe Dumbledore had paired up on opposite answers instead of similar ones? More importantly, why had this entire thing started in the first place? Was house unity really worth this kind of effort? She decided then and there she wouldn't even try to win the competition. Harry could keep the money; it was his in the first place. With that thought in mind, Hermione bid the other two good night and climbed the stairs to her room, where she changed into pyjamas, brushed her teeth, and promptly fell asleep.

The first week after the announcement of the ball, Hermione managed to push the whole ordeal to the back of her mind. Classes her sixth year were more strenuous than before, so after swamping herself in homework, it was hard for her to recall her _own_ name sometimes, much less the name of a boy she was being forced to see for one night. Harry and Ron seemed to behave much the same way, as well, with one notable difference for each — whenever Harry saw Luna, he waved; whenever Ron saw Millicent, he turned green and excused himself. Otherwise, every day seemed perfectly normal.

So had that Monday, before she had her classes. Since the first day of Potions, it seemed that Slughorn felt a bit sorry for Neville, so he paired Hermione up with him in the hope that she'd keep him — and consequentially the rest of the class — out of the Hospital Wing. For the most part, she had. The only mishap was the second time they made a potion together, when Neville set his cauldron on fire (quite a feat, as it was pure steel). Otherwise, she merely set him to fetching, chopping, dicing, and juicing ingredients whenever she needed them. It worked well, and it would've worked that Monday if there hadn't been a slight hiccup: the pair was seated behind Malfoy and one of his cronies.

To be fair, Hermione had _tried_ to ignore him. Really, she had. But it was hard to ignore someone who was speaking to you more often than to his own partner.

"That potion looks a mite too thin, Granger. Maybe Longbottom here had better take over. Even _he'd_ have a better shot at it than you."

"Merlin, are you trying to make a soup?"

"It's the wrong colour — did you get your filthy hands in it?"

Neville tried to defend her each time, but Hermione hushed him with a wave of her hand. She could see that Malfoy was begging for attention. What she didn't see was his incensed look each time she didn't react to his words. In hindsight, she wished she would have hexed him and gotten over it, because suddenly her cauldron was glowing silver and bubbling like mad. She'd seen the blond's hand pass over it while she was helping Neville.

"What did you do?" she shrieked at Malfoy. The bubbling turned into a fountain, spilling onto the desk, and Hermione yanked Neville away. The rest of the class seemed to be scrambling for cover as well. Only Professor Slughorn seemed torn about whether he should help or hide. Finally, with a proper _Evanesco_ , he washed away all of the concoction. The desk was scorched completely, as if lava had flooded over the wood. Some parts of the desk were still smoking. Hermione then noted with horror that her potions set was melted almost entirely.

"My cauldron!" she wailed, and she would have scrambled towards the desk if Neville hadn't held her back.

And that was when she heard him laughing. Draco Malfoy, _laughing_ at her. Laughing after everything he'd done to ruin her life.

She changed right then. Something inside of her abruptly flipped over, like a switch. She knew exactly what she had to do. Hermione turned and glowered at him dangerously, hands clenched at her side. Oh, he would pay.

In a somewhat metaphorical fashion, _he would pay_.

She locked eyes with him and sent him a bone-chilling smile that interrupted his sniggering. He looked rather frightened, actually. Hermione revelled in it. She had made up her mind. She would win her little bet with Harry and Ron, and she would ruin Malfoy's life in the process.

Slughorn, after bumbling around for a bit, dismissed the class. She was first out the door. After all, she considered herself to be an ambitious girl. She had never settled for second-best in her life, and that meant being completely prepared to win this dare. The first phase would start immediately. She burst into Gryffindor Tower and climbed the stairs without hesitation. When she reached her room, Hermione dropped her bag at her bed and approached Lavender and Parvati. They'd have the information that she'd need to prepare for the castration. Er, the ball.

The two girls, of course, were exchanging gossip. The dance was the source of every juicy bit these days, so, of course, that was the dominant theme of late.

"Hello, girls," she greeted nervously. "I'm sorry, but . . . I need your help."

Both regarded her with distrusting shock. "Help with what?" Parvati finally ventured.

"Er, well, Harry, Ron and I have a bet, you know, to see who can kiss their dates first. I . . . I need to win it."

"With Draco?" Lavender prompted slowly.

Hermione nodded. It was as if she'd said a spell. Both girls grabbed her hand and pulled her between them on the bed, squealing with delight and shouting their encouragement.

"He's so fit!"

"I've heard he's a fantastic kisser!"

Hermione listened to their praise a bit more before she interrupted them. "Yes, but what do I need to _do_?"

Parvati and Lavender exchanged glances, then launched into a mode of professionalism that Hermione would have never expected. "Men are very visual," Lavender said right off. "You'll need to look much better than usual to catch his attention." As she said the last bit, she exchanged a look with Parvati that said, ' _That_ shouldn't be too hard.'

Ignoring it, Hermione said, "Right, so I get a nice dress. What else?"

" 'A nice dress'?" the other girl cut in, "Hermione, you'll need to do more than that. Could you fix your hair like you did in fourth year again?"

"I . . . I _suppose_."

"You'll need someone to do your makeup, of course. And your nails, they'll need to be painted. Legs shaved as well—yes, above the knee. Jewellery we can worry about later, after we get the dress." Parvati seized her up quickly. "I'm thinking red."

"Oh, yes. Red would do wonderfully." Lavender's grin matched her friends.

"Of course, if we can't find one that works, I suppose any colour would do," Parvati added as an afterthought.

Hermione didn't know what else to say, so she settled for, "Er, right."

"I also have a spell for you." Lavender, taking her wand in hand, said, " _Ovilio_ ," as she ran its tip across her own neck. The delicate scent that tickled Hermione's nose soon after was light but pretty.

"What is that spell?"

"The Perfume Charm. It actually takes your own personal scent and magnifies it. You won't be able to smell a thing, but others can. As for the boys"— she put her fingers to her lips in mock-shyness —"they go crackers about it." She and Parvati squealed again, covering their mouths in near hysterics. Hermione reminded herself silently that they were doing her a favour, and that it was rude to tell them to shut up.

"How should I act?" she interrupted when they had quieted down a bit. "I mean, how can I keep him from strangling me on the spot?"

"Easy. He's a boy. Boys like girls. All you have to do is be a girl."

She wanted to tell them that she already was one, but she knew they wouldn't buy it.

"First, let him think that he's in control. It lets him feel like a man."

"But what if he calls me . . . you know . . . a mudblood?" Hermione grimaced as she said the word.

Parvati smiled deviously. "That is when you show him who's _really_ in control." Lavender laughed. "Besides, I'm fairly sure that he doesn't mean it when he says it anymore."

Hermione raised one eyebrow questioningly. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing!" both the girls burst, and then they dissolved into giggles again. "Just pretend," Lavender sniggered, "pretend that you don't care if he says that. He's only trying to make you angry anyways."

Well, that was probably true. Hermione nodded along. "Anything else I should do?"

"Girls are sweet!"

"Girls are shy!"

"Girls never give into temptation!"

They were listing things that Hermione knew she could never be around Malfoy, especially if she was struck with the temptation to elbow him in the stomach, but she memorized their advice anyways, just in case. When the pair dissolved into another fit of giggles, Hermione knew that she wouldn't get any more information from them that night. She smiled, thanked them, and set off to start her homework. But, later that night, once she lay in her bed, Hermione began to plan her revenge.

She always left her plotting for late at night, while she waited to fall asleep. Most people didn't know that she thought her best at night, tucked cosily in her bed, the curtains drawn tightly shut around her. Here, she could rid her mind of any distractions and focus solely on what needed to be done. Hermione was currently thinking about her final plans before the dance. She only had three weeks left, but she knew that with careful, measured steps, she could win. She _had_ to. Malfoy was becoming more of a nuisance than ever, with his biting words and blatant disregard for her feelings. She'd never met someone so . . . so . . . so _mean_! Even if it meant doing something as unthinkable as kissing him, Hermione wanted to make him pay.

Her second phase in the plan, she decided after fuming for a bit, would be to treat Malfoy with a little more tolerance and civility than normal. It would be hard, but it certainly couldn't hurt. And besides, she'd be able to catch him off-guard if she lured him in. You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, her mother used to say. Satisfied, Hermione allowed her eyes to flutter shut as she drifted into a well-deserved sleep.

The next morning, she caught a glimpse of him in the hallway. "Good morning, Malfoy," Hermione said exuberantly, making sure to attract as much attention as possible.

He reacted just as she thought he would.

The boy stiffened, but did not turn around. Pansy's jaw dropped open, and Crabbe and Goyle wore matching faces of confusion. Ignoring them, Hermione walked around and stood in his line of vision, a false smile plastered on her face.

"How have you been?"

He didn't answer. In fact, he wasn't doing much of anything. Well, except staring at her. It was really very awkward. So Hermione sucked in a breath and said, "Oh, well, I actually must head to class, but it was good to see you." She smiled again and waved as she walked away.

And she kept on greeting him whenever she saw him. If she caught him trying to escape, she made the encounter even more embarrassing, going as far as squealing his name as she dashed up to his side. His mortification was evident, and she revelled in it. Of course, Malfoy knew exactly what she was trying to do, but it seemed that he hadn't come up with a way to get her back yet. He'd tried ignoring her, avoiding her, calling her names, and even threatening her with his book bag, but she would just laugh and say her pleasant goodbye before skipping off. Eventually, he started taking her approaches with a sort of mild resignation, replying quietly to her hellos and goodbyes with a pained face.

So the next time they crossed paths, Hermione snatched his wrist and stopped him to talk. "Have you started your Potions essay yet?"

"What are you trying to pull?" His voice was edged with panic and he was glancing every which way, scared to be seen with her.

Hermione widened her eyes innocently. "I was trying to be polite. I mean, since we have to go to the ball together, I thought I'd bury the hatchet."

He stared at her.

"Er, let bygones be bygones," she clarified.

"Well, stop being polite," Malfoy hissed quietly, wrenching his wrist from her fingers. "Stop following me, stop talking to me, just _stop_!"

Hermione allowed her smile to turn wicked for a moment. "Why, Malfoy, I had thought that we could behave well towards one another. We may even become friends."

His face blanched. "Friends?" he spluttered. "You're barmy, Granger! Abso-bloody-lutely —"

"Mr. Malfoy!"

The pair whirled to find that Professor Flitwick was fast approaching, a scowl on his face. Malfoy flinched as he replied, "Yes, Professor?"

"Why are you calling Miss Granger names in the hallway? Shouldn't you be getting to class?"

"Yes, Professor."

Flitwick's mouth pressed into a grim line, and he stood with his hands placed sternly on his hips until the blond was completely out of sight. He then turned to Hermione. "Are you alright, Miss Granger?"

"Er, yes, Professor. Thank you." She started towards the Charms classroom, with Flitwick close behind.

"I'm glad you don't take it to heart. I know he can be a bit of a nuisance"— Hermione inwardly snorted —"but he truly doesn't mean what he says to you."

"Right," she agreed absently. In reality she had no idea what Flitwick was talking about. Clearly Malfoy meant every word he had said to her, not that it put her off in the least. She was rather glad to discover that they at least agreed on one point — they would never, _ever_ become friends.

So phase two of her plan was working well, she concluded. Hermione decided that, with a week and a half left before the ball, she could afford to divert some of her attention away from speaking to him. Instead, she wished to focus more on her appearance. She'd been plotting for a few nights now to start using a spot of makeup, just enough to make her appear nicer than usual. Lavender had also found a few hair spells that would help her smooth frizzes during the day. The way things were going with Malfoy, she calculated that she could begin with small amounts of makeup the next day and, by the end of the week, she could have a (relatively) fresh look.

She started the next day with something simple: a dab of cherry red lip gloss, and one of Lavender's anti-frizz spells. It was odd, but looking at herself in the mirror gave her a sense of confidence that she rarely had had before. Hermione straightened up in her chair and smiled at her reflection.

"Well, here goes nothing."

She gathered her things and started towards the Great Hall for breakfast.

Something immediately felt off. For one thing, she was used to having to shove through people because of her short stature, but today, she had a clear path. It was probably because of the second thing that felt off — they were all _staring_. At _her_. Hermione thought it was a mistake at first, but when she caught the fifth boy stopped in his tracks and craning his neck to get another look at her, she was convinced.

Thankfully, she ran into a familiar face in the hallway. "Ginny!" she called, a bit desperately. The redhead turned and smiled when she saw her.

"You look nice today," she greeted. "I like your lip gloss."

"Everyone's staring," Hermione interrupted, nodding at yet another boy watching her with wide eyes.

Ginny laughed. "Of course they are. I don't think _anyone's_ ever seen you with makeup on during a normal school day. They're curious. Just you wait for Harry's and Ron's reactions, you'll see."

Of course, Ginny (being as versed in men as Lavender and Parvati) had been right. Both Harry and Ron gaped at her when she sat across from them at breakfast.

"Er, good morning," she said, snatching an apple.

"There's something . . . _different_ about you today, Hermione," Harry pronounced, as if he'd made a significant scientific discovery. Ron still hadn't recovered enough to talk yet.

Ginny caught Hermione's attention and rolled her eyes, mouthing, 'Told you.'

"It's nothing," Hermione told Harry. "My mum owled me lip gloss, and I put a spot on this morning."

"Lip gloss," Ron repeated stupidly. He sprayed toast crumbs on the table as he did so, causing everyone else to flinch back. He was, of course, the worst case she saw during the course of the day, but Hermione caught many others staring openly at her. Was it really that strange for her to be wearing makeup? Well, yes, it probably was. But they had no right to gape at her like some roadside attraction. Ginny assured her that if she continued using makeup, attention would ease off.

And it mercifully did. Life sunk back into its ordinary routine (although she continued to greet Malfoy in the hallways, while he continued to pretend that she didn't exist). One week left before the ball, and everything was going according to her calculations.

Then the unexpected happened.

Hermione gave her usual smile and 'hullo' to Malfoy. She had expected the usual frigid glare, or maybe a snide remark, but she certainly did not expect him to stop in front of her. Automatically, she mimicked his motions. "What do you need?"

"I came to ask what colour your dress robes are," Malfoy said robotically. He was staring at an interesting brick on the wall just above her head. She wasn't quite sure what to make of his approach, so she gave an embarrassed cough and replied honestly. "I, er, haven't picked it out yet."

He focused on her face at last. " _What_?"

"I haven't had the time to go shopping for a dress," she explained in more detail.

"The ball is in a week, Granger. Don't you think that's cutting it close?"

"No. There's a Hogsmede trip tomorrow; I'm going then."

He rolled his eyes. "Right. Owl me the colour when you pick your robes."

"But —"

And then he briskly walked away.

"Well, fine," she muttered to no one in particular. Hermione set off towards the Charms corridor, noting with some sense of accomplishment that this was the first actual conversation they'd had that didn't result in violence. That had to mean _something_.

Maybe.

Classes were the same that Friday (they always were) and she was ambushed by Lavender and Parvati when she got back. The two of them were desperate to know whether she was still going to pick out a dress with them the next day. Hermione assured them that yes, she was still planning on it, and the other two girls giggled and pranced away.

It was embarrassing knowing them, sometimes.

Ginny was invited to go as well; Hermione was grateful to have a companion with a head firmly planted on her shoulders. They left as soon as they could the next morning. Lavender and Parvati flitted out front, giggling and whispering the whole time. It got to the point where Hermione just assumed it was about her, and she rolled her eyes. Ginny, on the other hand, did something a bit more useful: she asked Hermione what sort of dress she wanted.

"Oh, I don't know. Lavender and Parvati said red."

"The colour doesn't matter," Ginny informed her with a perversely wise half-smile. "What do you want your dress to _say_ for you? After you decide that, styles, colours, and everything else will follow."

Honestly, she never thought about it that way. Really, she hadn't thought dresses could say anything at _all_ , being inanimate and everything. Hermione decided to play along. "I . . . I want to look strong, not like a bimbo. But I still want to look like . . . well, like a girl."

Ginny grinned back. "Well, then definitely red. I'll find you something perfect."

The dress shop was alarmingly crowded when they all arrived, enough so that Hermione was not helped by a staff member, but by Ginny for the first twenty minutes. Well, Ginny, Lavender and Parvati, but the other two girls had taken to helping Hermione in and out of dresses, as well as rating them. They actually had an entire system.

For Hermione, the dresses all looked the same. She had no idea how Lavender and Parvati were deciding that one was good, one bad, one unflattering, et cetera, et cetera.

But then Ginny came in with a wide grin, holding out a silken red dress. "I think this is the one." Parvati and Lavender both gasped, saying things like, "Ginny, it's beautiful!" and "Where did you find it?"

"Let's get her in it right now," Lavender pressed, unzipping Hermione immediately.

Hermione just stared at all three. It looked like a dress to her.

"Step in it!" Parvati urged. "Trust us!"

That, of course, made Hermione even more suspicious, but she cast her opinion aside and stepped in the dress. They pulled it up, and she put her arms through the sleeves and turned.

She was never so glad that she had listened to them.

Her hand flew to her mouth in surprise, and she could barely hear the other girls' coos of approval. Everything about it—the ruffled straps, the high waist, the A-line skirt (all phrases she'd learned while shopping), all of it was gorgeous. But, even more important, she _felt_ strong, and beautiful. "This is the one," she told them softly.

And the best part of it all was that the dress was on sale. Ginny knew her all too well.

When Hermione arrived back on the grounds, carrying the dress delicately in her arms, she immediately brought it to her room and hung it just outside of her closet. Ginny had told her to wear a gold necklace with it, but Hermione only had one — a locket that her mother had given her. Inside was a picture of them, and of her as a baby, only a few months old. It almost felt too personal to wear to a dance, but it was all she had.

She worked on her homework the rest of the day, completing a large chunk of it before she decided it was time for bed. Only then did she remember — she was supposed to tell Malfoy what colour her dress was. Hastily, she scribbled the word _red_ on a piece of parchment and scrambled down to the owlry to send it away.

Except Malfoy was already there.

They stared at each other in shock for two beats, then Hermione shot him a smile, just like she did during school hours. "Hullo, Malfoy. How are you?"

He gave her an annoyed glance before sending his owl off. "What are you doing here?" he groaned, as if her presence had just ruined his evening.

"It's the owlry," she pointed out with a slight frown. "I have just enough reason to be here as you do."

Naturally, he crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow, as if challenging her. "What could you possibly be sending this late at night? Bit tardy to send off love notes, isn't it?"

"This isn't a love note," she shot back, already exasperated with his standoffishness. "I was sending it to you."

Another two beats passed.

"Oh." She actually watched him deflate a little. "What is it, then?"

"The colour of my dress. It's red."

He pursed his lips. "You _had_ to choose red, didn't you?" Then, he grumbled, "Bloody Gryffindors —"

"That's not fair!" she shot back. "I chose it because it's a nice dress, not because of its colour!"

"Fine."

They glared at each other, for tradition's sake. Then, abruptly, Malfoy sighed. His shoulders slumped, and he rocked back on his heels. "Did you want me to get you a corsage?"

"Huh?" she answered gawkily.

"A corsage. You know, flowers. You wear them with your dress." He began to patronizingly mime his words.

"No, you dolt, I _understood_ you!" Hermione snapped at him. "I was just wondering why you even offered!"

"Don't you like flowers?" he smirked.

His tone forced her to pause. Here she was, standing after dark in a secluded location with, for all intents and purposes, her future date. And he was teasing her about flowers. This wasn't the Malfoy she knew. Hell, she didn't know _anyone_ like this. What was he doing?

Well, it couldn't have been _flirting_ , that's for sure.

"Do what you want," she said cautiously. "I've got to get back."

"Go ahead," he said, waving her away carelessly. "I've more to send."

She gave him her polite goodbye, the same she'd been using in the hallways. Except this time, he returned it.

* * *

As ridiculous as this story is, I still adore it. Interesting fact: Many of these parts were originally included in my planning for _The Danger of Love_ , but didn't make the cut, so they wound up here. I guess you could call this a spin-off? Anyways, Part II is coming soon. In the meantime, please review. :)


	2. Part II

The second and already final installment of Wizard DATAmatch is here! The exciting conclusion! Who will win the bet? Read on...

" **Wizard DATAmatch"**

 **(or "In Which Hermione Granger Completely Loses It")**

 **Part II**

Hermione didn't see much of Malfoy the final week before the ball. Really, the only time she saw him now was either in class or at a distance. Though she still waved and smiled, they hardly spoke. It seemed as if he was avoiding her again, which was fine with her. Their chance encounter at the owlry had been a bit too much Malfoy for her to handle, and honestly, his actions were beginning to confuse her. Friday approached quickly, classes finished, and that was that. Hermione marched dutifully to her room. The only part of Saturday she anticipated was securing the money and humiliating her nemesis in one fell swoop.

She did her best to relax throughout that Saturday morning. She read, she worked on what little homework she had — Dumbledore had encouraged teachers to lighten assignments to allow time for the dance — and she even napped. Around five-thirty, Hermione awoke to two pairs of waiting eyes. She yelped and scrambled for her wand.

"Merlin, Hermione, it's just us!" cried a voice as hands wrestled her still. Upon closer inspection, it was only them, indeed — Lavender and Parvati, wearing identical smile. "You need to get showered and into your dress!" They physically rolled her out of her bed, guiding her towards the showers all the while chatting about the upcoming dance.

Hermione showered leisurely, assuring herself it wasn't because she was scared of Lavender and Parvati's ministrations. At least, not terribly.

As soon as she stepped out of the shower, they were waiting with the dress. "Do you really think that —"

"Yes, Hermione. Get in the dress and shoes. You'll thank us later."

She huffed, but obeyed. They laced up her back and ankles, then abandoned her so she could do her hair. It was still wet when she plopped down, so she took her time drying her curls. Then the thinkable happened. Her hair didn't cooperate. At all. The sleek look that she had longed to wear was impossible.

Sighing, she changed tactics, choosing to soothe her frizzes into tight coils with her wand. Even her reflection looked disappointed with the final product. She'd wanted waves, not springs. Thankfully, Hermione managed to remind herself that it was only Malfoy, and that it would take nothing short of a Polyjuice Potion for him to even _look_ at her like a girl. That thought made her feel a bit better. She faintly smiled and decided on a whim to tie her hair up instead. Deftly, she twisted each side together and pinned it down until she was satisfied. As a finishing touch, she curled a red ribbon through the back and tied it firmly. The style looked nowhere near as nice as it did her fourth year, but the ribbon added a fetching colour, and it was much more practical than letting her hair stay unbound.

Now, to get downstairs in her shoes. It occurred to her that taking them off might be easier — but when she glanced down at the length of skirt, and the straps that held the shoes firmly in place, she rethought her strategy. She'd be able to survive, right? Unsteadily, she rose and did her best to make her way to the door. Ginny's room was only one floor below hers — she needed to stay alive for one flight before she could sit down again. She took it one stair at a time, grasping the banner with a white-knuckled grip. Hermione would never understand how anyone walked in these.

She reached the landing safely just as the door opened. It was Ginny.

"Hermione, what are you doing?"

"Thank Merlin —"

"Your hair!" Ginny interrupted with a gasp.

Hermione took a moment to register her words, and when she did, she was almost embarrassed. "Oh, this?" She touched her hand to it gingerly. "It didn't cooperate as —"

"Hermione, really! It's _gorgeous_! How did you get the ribbon in it?"

"You like it?" She was more confused than grateful, but she thanked her friend anyways. "Now, my shoes?"

"Oh, right." With a wave of Ginny's wand, they suddenly felt as if they were her most comfortable trainers.

"Thank Merlin! That feels wonderful!" She jumped a couple of times in them just to be sure, then she turned back to the redhead, a bit awkward. "And, er, I was also wondering if you could —"

"Say no more," the redhead interrupted with a grin. "I was going to do your makeup whether you asked me to or not."

"Oh." Hermione smiled back, feeling a bit foolish, but she allowed Ginny to usher her inside and scrub her up until she practically shone. Despite Ginny's questionable choices with makeup, the young girl seemed to understand that Hermione was uncomfortable with gobs of it. She kept the style light and neutral, and even lent her a bracelet that matched her necklace. At last, Hermione saw herself in the mirror.

She shrugged. "Good enough."

" _What_?" Ginny burst. "Hermione, you are _beautiful_!"

"As long as I'm fit enough to win, I don't care." She smirked. "So, ready for the dance?" Laughing in disbelief, the redhead linked arms with her and they walked down the stairs with the rest of the girls.

The staff had been busy decorating the corridors to the Great Hall, but Hermione hadn't expected the level of splendour that she saw. Chains of bubbles laced the ceiling, and the decorations grew more pronounced as they neared the Great Hall. When they arrived at the doors, a cluster of students stood, waiting for their partners. Malfoy's blond hair stood out starkly against the background of dark robes; he was waiting, as well. With trepidation, the two girls arrived at the foot of the stairs, just in front of him.

"Hullo," Hermione said to him, and he mumbled the same in reply. To Ginny, he distractedly asked, "Have you seen Granger?" He was still peering up the staircase with a pronounced frown.

"Er, _I'm_ Gran — I mean, Hermione." Malfoy whipped his head around, eyes growing as wide as Remembralls. After a moment, he opened his mouth, but no sound came out. She assumed that he was surprised. People often were when she attended dances. ( _Do I really look_ that _much like a man during the school week?_ she wondered.) Ginny, sniggering, gave Hermione a small wave before she set off.

"You . . . look nice tonight," Hermione said to fill the silence. And he _did_ look rather fit. He had decided to match her dress robes with his tie, and it looked better than she thought it would. You know, since he was a selfish tosser and all.

At the sound of her compliment, his chin lifted a fraction of an inch. "You too," he coughed, apparently recovered enough to match her clipped tone. "For a mud — ouch!" The reason he didn't finish his sentence was because she had jabbed him in the shin with the point of her shoe. Hard.

"Rule number one: you are not to call me a mudblood tonight," she said with a false smile. Her eyes looked like they were capable of setting something on fire.

With a glower, he snapped, "Rule number two: you're not allowed to use those bloody shoes to hurt me ever again."

"Fine by me."

They shook on it, though Malfoy subtly wiped his hand on his robes after Hermione turned her back.

The pair entered the Great Hall side-by-side, and both immediately faltered in their steps. Even Malfoy seemed to be faintly impressed with the decorations. From the rafters, huge draperies of white looped downward, seemingly hanging from the clear night sky. After a moment's observation, though, Hermione grimaced. In the centre, a huge space had been cleared for dancing, while around the perimeter stood hundreds of tables, all meant for two to sit comfortably. Fan-bloody-tastic. Judging by Malfoy's face, he'd figured out the night's activities as well.

Grimly, Hermione started for a nearby table and he followed, his feet dragging with reluctance. They sat across from each other with matching scowls.

And that was how they sat for five long minutes, until Hermione heard her name called from the right. She glanced over and saw Harry approaching, Luna trailing next to him on his arm. Before she could greet him, she heard her 'date' say, "Hey, Potter! If they're pairing up by personality, does that mean you're crackers as well?"

Wordlessly, Hermione elbowed her date in the stomach and waved Harry over as if nothing had happened. It would've been more convincing had Malfoy not doubled over, cussing loudly.

"Hi, Harry! Hi, Luna!" said Hermione, pretending to be cheerful. Malfoy was still sullenly massaging his abdomen and made no comment.

"Hello, Hermione. You look great."

She beamed at him. "Thank you, Harry."

Harry turned to Malfoy, his smile fading. "Hello, er . . ." Harry allowed himself to trail off, but Luna, never one to be shy, interrupted.

"Hello, Draco. Pleasant evening, isn't it?"

"It could've been a whole lot pleasanter," he grumbled nastily. Hermione feigned as if she'd hit him, and he flinched.

Harry chuckled. "How's that leash feeling, Malfoy? Too tight?" Malfoy shot him a look fierce enough to make Harry abandon his merriment immediately.

"Don't you think the decorations are beautiful, Draco?" Luna continued as if she hadn't seen the bickering. "I rather like the drapery. It reminds me of the Northern Lights. Except these are only white, aren't they?"

Malfoy replied haltingly as he eyed her, and Hermione seized the opportunity to speak to Harry in private. "The bet's still on, right?"

"Right. I think Ron's out, though."

"Really? What happened?"

"The last I saw him, he was in the loo with a handful of hors d'oeuvres and a glass of punch. I think he was talking about barricading one of the stall doors."

Hermione stifled her laughter with her hand. "I don't think that'll work."

"What about you?" Harry pressed. "Are you sure you want to go through with it? This is Malfoy we're talking about."

"I can handle the likes of him," she boasted, and to prove her point, she turned to the blond and said, "Malfoy, would you like some punch?"

"Sure."

"Good. I'll have some as well," and she gave a nod towards the refreshment table. It took a moment for her words to sink in. Malfoy then looked livid for a split-second, but it passed as suddenly as it had come. He rose, straightened his robes, and promptly left. Hermione smirked at Harry. "See?"

He was laughing. "Brilliant, Hermione, really."

"Oh, Harry, look! Do you see the rose bushes?" Luna didn't give him time to answer; she simply grasped his elbow and dragged him away as he called a goodbye to Hermione. She waved at them both and turned to sit down again, but she heard someone clear his throat. Reluctantly, Hermione turned to find Malfoy standing behind her, grasping two cups of punch. She hadn't expected him to follow through with her command, and she was even glad for his small display of kindness.

"Your punch," he said primly.

"Thank —"

And then he poured it over her head.

To her credit, Hermione didn't scream. She didn't cry. Her back stiffened momentarily from the cold punch sliding down her skin. A bit got into her eye, and it stung, but she found a smile. Then she seized his own cup from between his fingers and splashed its contents in his face.

Malfoy didn't react, either.

The pair of them stood there, rather foolishly, dripping red punch next to their table and silently daring the other to make the first move. Hermione was forcibly reminded of a stand-off from one of those old western movies from the States that her father was so fond of. The first person to draw their weapon would be the victor.

His hand twitched. There! She snatched hers out instantly, a triumphant grin plastered on her lips. But, instead of attacking, he quietly banished the punch from his face, watching her with a cool aura of complacency. He eventually said, "Granger, are you going to get that punch off of yourself? Or are you used to being filthy?" That damnable smirk crept onto his lips, and she almost hexed him just because she could. But, being a better person than that, she banished the punch as well. (Only on the _inside_ did she wish him a horrible death with every fibre of her being.) After quickly patting her hair, she seated herself and sent him the coldest glare she could muster. Judging by his reaction — an eye-roll — it was a pathetic effort.

Dumbledore called their attention to the head table. "Welcome, one and all, to the DataMatch Ball!" There was a bit of polite applause, mostly from the faculty. Hermione clapped faintly. Malfoy didn't budge. "As I have said before, I hope that tonight will show all of you that there is more that we share than just our magical blood. Though we may misunderstand each other, in the end, we are all in this together." He'd likely gotten that line from _High School Musical_. Hermione was surprised that she wasn't surprised. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, dinner."

Menus appeared on their plates. This was completely new to Hermione, and she found herself staring at her plate until Malfoy whipped his napkin open and spread it across his lap. Eying her with wicked amusement, he picked up the menu and began reading the selection. Grudgingly, she followed suit. She was taken aback again, though, when she found that she hadn't eaten many of these foods before — some she'd only ever heard of. "They really pulled out all the stops," Hermione muttered, forgetting who she was sitting with.

"It's nothing terribly special. Just a bit of French dining."

Oh Merlin. She wanted to slap him.

"Could you deflate your ego a little bit? It's blocking my reading light."

"Sorry to disappoint, but I think that's your hair."

"Then the reflection off of your pasty forehead will just have to do." She made a show of adjusting her menu. "There, all better." Only the knowledge that she still didn't quite know how to order kept her victory from being too sweet.

Finally, upon witnessing him speaking to his plate and beginning his salad, she followed suit.

Nothing happened.

She repeated her order, a bit louder this time about. When she finished, she noticed a girl at a nearby table openly staring at her. Under her breath, she said, "Malfoy, you bleeding git! What am I supposed to do?"

"Keep going; you're doing splendidly." He gave her a cheeky grin as he stabbed another piece of salad. She imagined him missing and stabbing himself instead. That cheered her up a bit.

Again, she glanced around the room and noticed, for the first time, that Ron was sitting across from Bulstrode. Judging by the close proximity of Snape, Ron had been discovered in the loo and was now in some form of detention. Slyly, Hermione watched him touch his menu, and then food appeared a moment afterwards.

Proudly, she lifted her menu again and pressed down on the items she wanted. Marks appeared next to her selections. When she set it aside, the first course appeared.

Malfoy sniffed at her.

"Oh, you think you're so smart," Hermione goaded him. "Mister Hoity-toity." She snatched a crouton off of her plate and popped it in her mouth. "And that wasn't very nice of you not to tell me that —"

"Granger, I don't know what values they teach in muggle homes, but in the wizarding world, it is not polite to talk with your mouth full." The way he sipped his drink afterwards made her want to punt him clear across the room. "You should probably close your mouth, as well. It's unladylike."

If she were standing, she would have stomped her foot in irritation. "Don't you _dare_ tell me —"

"Ah ah, you're talking with your mouth full again," he pointed out casually as he replaced his goblet on the table. Her fist was clutching the salad fork so hard, she was amazed it hadn't snapped in half. While she was speechless, he leaned his elbows on the table, folded his hands together and rested his chin on them. A small clump of blond hair fell over his icy eyes. "Now, may I eat my salad in silence, or will I have to resort to coercion?"

Half-awed, she said, "You're a right prig, you know that?"

"Takes one to know one."

Oh, wow. Primary school retorts. She snorted as she speared another piece of lettuce. "Touché." Only now did she remember she was supposed to be trying to win him over, and not fighting back the urge to maim him.

They finished their salads mutely, only the occasionally jabbing of silverware breaking the silence. When Hermione set her fork down at the end, the plate disappeared and a bread basket nestled itself between their plates.

"What kind?" she eagerly asked, again forgetting who she was sitting with.

She watched him raise an eyebrow. "Bread. Of the crusted variety." Then he said, "Merlin, I don't know; I haven't even had a bloody bite yet." He tore himself off a hunk and began to butter it.

"It smells like sourdough," she added with a huff as she snatched her own piece. "How fitting."

"Tut, tut. That sounded deliberately cruel, Granger. Not at all house-friendly."

"I'm not prejudiced against Slytherin in general. I just happen to hate _you_." She glared at him for good measure, and watched him primly place his butter knife on the bread plate.

"Touché," he said, and took a bite of bread. He was still staring at her levelly. For some reason, she felt as if she had lost that particular argument. And why exactly was she blushing? He smirked at her, and her scowl deepened. It then hit her.

"Are you trying to chat me up?" she demanded, loudly enough to attract attention from the other tables.

Malfoy immediately began to choke on his bite of bread during her proclamation. "What?" he wheezed, glaring through his watering eyes. "Are you barmy? Of course not!" He reached for his goblet and drank a bit more, eyeing her cagily. She stuck her tongue out at him. At that moment, her prime rib appeared, and she hastily began her meal so that she wouldn't have to talk to him any more. He seemed to have the same idea.

The main course passed with more silence. She was beginning to wonder whether they would have to participate in anything else besides dinner, because if he was going to act like this the entire time, she'd much rather kick him than kiss him.

 _The kiss_ , Hermione thought with a jolt. She still had time, right? Hastily, she peeked at Ron's table. To her relief — though not to her surprise — both Ron and Bulstrode were intently maiming their cornish hens and Snape was still within arm's reach. It did not seem as if Ron would be competing for the money any more, meaning that Harry and Luna were the only threat. The couple was just ahead of her, and she watched their halting conversation with mild suspicion. Harry could be a smooth-talker if he wanted to be. Luna's obliviousness may prove to be her only ally.

She only hoped that Malfoy would cooperate. Pensively, she watched him chew a bite of mash and wondered how hard she'd be able to slap him after they kissed without inciting a vicious duel. Optimistically, very hard.

"Why're you so happy?" he snapped.

Oh, Hermione must have smiled when she thought of injuring him. "None of your business," she said, still grinning. She took a bite of her prime rib, licked her lip where the juice had run out, then wiped her mouth.

"You're disgusting," he breathed, cheeks pink with frustration.

She rolled her eyes.

Neither of them spoke another word the rest of the course. When the plates disappeared, they occupied themselves with their drinks. Hermione wished hers was butterbeer, or possibly fire whiskey, so she wouldn't have to feel so terribly awkward as they sat there staring at their mineral water and empty punch glasses.

She considered it a small miracle when dessert appeared, and she would have started eating immediately if Malfoy hadn't interrupted her thoughts. "Really?" he burst in exasperation. He glanced at her plate and then his own before dropping his spoon in disgust. "Did we order the exact same thing _again?_ "

Hmm. Hermione honestly hadn't noticed, but thinking back, they had received the exact same dishes. "Well, our personality tests _did_ reportedly match the best."

"If those tests matched, I'll set my wand on fire," Malfoy said a bit too vehemently. "I didn't even read the questions!"

She opened her mouth to state that she had done the same, but thought better of it and instead took a bite of her chocolate mousse.

"Well, you agree, don't you?" he pressed. "This is absolutely ludicrous."

"Of course I agree," she said, "but I'm not about to whine about it because it won't change anything."

"On the contrary. I've already informed Father of this, and —"

"You're still stuck here eating dessert with me," she interrupted with a smirk.

" _And_ ," he pushed on, gritting his teeth, "he shall speak with Dumbledore about this whole mess."

Hermione wanted to laugh at his naiveté. He seemed to honestly think that the mere presence of his father would do some sort of good. "So your father will speak with Dumbledore . . ."

"Correct."

". . . and somehow obtain a time-turner and stop this from ever happening?"

Malfoy was about to confirm it again, but he caught her tone and returned to his scowling. "He'll do _something_ ," he insisted.

"Well, I wish he'd hurry before we have to dance." She glanced around the room, pretending to look for another platinum blond that would save her from this one.

"We have to dance?" Hermione turned back to face her 'date' when she heard the note of panic in his voice. She decided to tease him a bit.

"You didn't notice? There is a dance floor," she pointed out truthfully. "Right there."

His features grew so white that she briefly wondered if he would die. "No. I will never, _ever_ —"

"Oh, come off it," she snapped before his rant could continue. "No one's going to make you do anything."

Almost as if on cue, Professor McGonagall called for silence. "Ladies and Gentlemen, if all couples would please report to the dance floor in five minutes, we will begin the traditional school dance."

Malfoy sent a withering glare at Hermione, who flushed.

"Well, how was I supposed to know that would happen?" she snapped unpersuasively.

"You're Granger. You know _everything_."

"Shut up."

They did their best to make dessert last as long as possible. Then, with only a moment's hesitation, they simultaneously moved towards the wide expanse of cleared floor, making sure not to stand too close to each other lest they touch. (Not like they were about to dance together or anything.) When they reached the outskirts of the dance floor, they lingered there, observing the other couples detachedly.

At once, the music began. He gruffly grabbed her hand and began to shove her about to the music, touching her as little as possible. Hermione didn't feel she was the best dancer, but she managed as well as he did, keeping time so that she could step on his foot whenever the opportunity presented itself. Judging by his clenched jaw, he knew what she was up to.

The crowd parted slightly beside them, and Malfoy made an odd noise that sounded suspiciously like gagging. Hermione glanced over her shoulder to see Harry and Luna dancing a few paces away. Growling, she stomped on his foot.

"Oy, rule number two!" he hissed at her, yanking his foot away.

"Well, rule number three: no making fun of my friends!"

"What about my friends?"

"You mean all _two_ of them? They're too dense to recognize a proper insult if it did a rain dance under their noses." Malfoy scowled and she sighed in exasperation. "Fine. Rule four: I won't make fun of _your_ friends, provided they don't do anything unbearably idiotic."

"Deal," he said, altogether too quickly. It was probably a better arrangement than he could have asked for.

They were, at this point, waltzing past the head table, where McGonagall was overseeing the pacing. "Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy, don't be afraid!" She forced Malfoy's hand to make contact with Hermione's waist. "I believe cooties were eradicated long ago."

The disgust on Malfoy's face would have had anybody guessing otherwise.

"Let's just get this over with," Hermione said through gnashing teeth. She unconsciously tightened her grip on his shoulder until he was actually wincing with the pain.

"Granger, mind your hand!" he snapped.

"Sorry." She stretched her fingers out and concentrated on counting the steps to the dance. It was a waltz, nothing fancy — but the counting was more relaxing than thinking about his hand on her waist, or the way he guided her across the dance floor. Someone bumped her from behind, causing her to momentarily touch bodies with him. Furious, she glared over her left shoulder, but it was Lavender's laughter that made her bite back her sharp words. Malfoy cleared his throat inelegantly. After a moment, he tried to ask her something over the music.

"Huh?" she said.

With tightened lips, he bent his mouth closer to her ear. "Do you think they'll make us dance more than one song?" he repeated. His breath was warm and tickled her neck. Bastard.

"I'm not dancing another dance," she replied stubbornly, "so you don't have to worry about _that_."

"Good."

As promised, as soon as the music halted, they leapt apart, both scrubbing their hands on their dress robes. Only when they both moved towards their table did Hermione realize they would then currently be sitting together instead of dancing together. It wasn't much of an improvement.

 _But the kiss_ , she thought again. Clenching her fists at her side, she followed him for the greater good.

When he caught her trailing after him, Malfoy frowned. "Don't you have someone else to annoy?" he spat nastily.

"Do you think McGonagall would let me leave you? Didn't you see what happened to Ron?" She wasn't completely sure that it was an unwritten rule or simply Snape's twisted sense of humour that had forced Ron out of hiding, but it served as a winning claim either way. Malfoy didn't argue with her, so they returned to their seats in silence. She turned to watch the dance continue.

Almost everyone else was still going at it. Maybe some were even having fun. She couldn't tell. If her experience was any indication, they were all waiting to be put out of their misery, but that was just a guess. They were all waltzing, regardless of their own feelings, as the teachers watched passively.

"Did you really want to dance that badly?" she heard Malfoy ask with revulsion.

"Not with you."

"In general though?" He was asking as if he couldn't imagine a worse fate.

She sighed, but at least it was civil conversation. "No. Not really. I don't fancy it."

He grunted. At least, it would have been considered a grunt if he weren't a Malfoy. Instead, it was some sort of hum of comprehension.

The song changed to a fox trot. She asked, "Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you enjoy dancing?"

"No, I don't. Bloody had to take lessons since I was bleeding five. The waltz, mostly. I always had to dance with my younger cousin, Carina." She watched him tap his finger on the table, unconsciously matching the beat. He didn't even seem to notice her; he simply spoke to the air. "My mother had hoped that we would be married, but I couldn't stand her. Her nose was always running and she'd let it drip on my robes."

While she tried not to laugh at a joke that Malfoy (yes, _the_ Draco Malfoy) had made, Hermione sarcastically mused about how well they were getting to know each other after all. Maybe pigs were flying, as well. It was now absolutely a possibility.

As if he'd only just realized she was there, he withdrew his hand from the table and scowled at nothing in particular. Then, he loudly announced, "I'm getting more punch," before he stood up and glided away. Hermione allowed herself to massage her temple only when he disappeared from view. An hour and a half had already passed and she had no idea if she was making progress. Would she even be able to kiss him?

She groaned to herself, and right then someone plopped down across from her. She peeked through her fingers. "Ginny?"

It was indeed the redhead, sipping on punch and glancing around. "Where's the ferret?"

"Getting punch."

"Excellent. I need to talk to you."

Hermione raised her eyebrow. "About what?"

"Snogging," she replied simply. "Have you done it before?"

The brunette started at the word, eyes wide. With a cursory glance over her shoulder to make sure they wouldn't be overheard, she hissed, "Merlin, Ginny! I don't think this is the best time! Shouldn't you be with your date?"

"Oh, don't be such a prude," the girl said, waving her hand.

"She can't help it. It's part of her teacher's pet persona." Hermione's face heated up immediately, and she straightened in her seat. Malfoy had just returned to the table with his punch. He was currently frowning at Ginny. "And, as a point of order, why are you in my seat?"

"I thought Hermione might be craving real company, since she's spent the whole night conversing with a rich prig." She grinned up at him dangerously.

"How touching," he droned. "I'm sure she appreciates the attentions of a girl who can't afford her own dress robes."

"At least I look good."

"Did your mirror tell you that? It must be broken. I'd buy a new one if I were you—oh, wait. You can't."

Hermione fought the urge to slam her head into the table and instead she interrupted them. "Will you two stop that? Tonight has been bad enough without listening to you bicker."

Ginny's devilish grin became bashful. "Sorry, Hermione."

"Then tell her to get out of my seat!" Malfoy protested, skipping the apology.

"I was only here to tell you that Harry's been looking for you," Ginny announced to Hermione as she rose. "I have to go now. I'm allergic to small rodents." Malfoy, apparently at a loss for words, simply blew a raspberry at her retreating back. Hermione humphed. Then, as if he had been longing to do so the entire time, the blond plopped down back in his chair.

"Couldn't bear to be away from me?" she mocked him. He didn't deign to reply, instead fixing her with a glower as he sipped his punch. She longed to toss this glass in his face as well, but she wasn't sure if he'd be able to hold back from hexing her this time around. "Anyways," she said as she rose, "I have to go look for Harry."

"What could possibly so urgent?" he mused wickedly, setting his punch to the side. "A secret meeting?"

"No," Hermione said quickly. She wasn't sure if it was a lie or not; she had no idea why Harry was looking for her in the first place.

Malfoy's smirk widened. "Then I think I'll tag along and see."

Her self-righteousness kicked in. Even if it was a lie, how _dare_ he think she was lying! "I have nothing to hide," she spat, her chin in the air. "Help me look for him."

"I will."

"Fine." She jerkily motioned for him to follow, and he complied, staying right on her back, close enough to trip her a few times. Despite the rawness of her heels, she managed to contain her temper until she stumbled into another familiar face hiding amongst the hors d'oeuvres.

"Ron?"

He sprang up to his feet and practically ran into her arms. "Hermione, you have to keep her away from me!" he whined in a whisper. "She tried to make me dance with her again, even though she stepped on my feet more than the dance floor!"

Malfoy harrumphed, although it seemed as if it were in agreement.

"What could I do? I don't think she'll listen to _me_."

"Send Malfoy in! She confessed she had a fancy. He'll —"

"I'll do nothing of the sort," Malfoy hissed.

Ron seemed to be on the verge of fighting back when Hermione wedged herself between them. "Ron, please. Leave him alone."

His frown turned to her, but then a look of thoughtfulness sprang onto his face. "You're still trying to win the bet? Are you barmy?"

"What bet?" Malfoy interrupted, but she ignored him.

"Don't tell me that you've won," Hermione huffed. "I've seen how much progress you've made."

"And you?" Her eyes snapped up to look at him. Ron wore a grin of smug satisfaction. He said, "I thought so."

"What would you know? I've done plenty."

"Please," he scoffed. "You're the one that didn't even want to leave the common room on school nights. You've never done anything adventurous, or crackers, or even remotely _bad_."

"Hermione, there you are!" a voice began.

"You probably don't even have the guts," Ron concluded, almost triumphantly. "Don't even bother trying to win now."

She couldn't believe her ears. "I don't have the _guts?_ " Her voice's volume was just shy of a shriek and nearby, couples were beginning to stare. Hermione didn't notice. "You watch _this,_ Ronald Weasley!" She stormed over to Malfoy, grabbed the front of his robes, yanked him towards her and pressed her mouth to his with a heated determination that she usually saved for homework. Her desire to win the bet was so strong that everything around her magically turned into something less important. She easily ignored the hollers and catcalls she got from the other students. She barely made out the muffled scream that emitted from Malfoy's mouth. She couldn't even feel the incessant attempts to pry her loose. Everything had gone to plan, and she couldn't have been happier.

When she finally did break free, Malfoy collapsed to the floor, panting for air between cusses. Hermione, wholly unconcerned for his wellbeing, turned back to Ron and pointed a finger triumphantly in his face. "Ha!"

At that moment, she spotted Harry off to one side, near Malfoy, frozen in utter amazement. "Harry, Harry, I won!" she declared to him, positively beaming.

" _What the bloody hell was that?_ " Malfoy questioned quite rudely from his spot on the floor.

"Yeah!" Ron agreed loudly. When he realized who he was agreeing with, his anger doubled. "Hermione, how could you _kiss_ him?"

"Is that adventurous enough for you?"

"I didn't _mean_ for you to do it!"

Harry watched the entire exchange staring only at her, mouth agape, as if he had accidentally charmed her naked in front of everyone. At once, in a strained voice, he gasped, "Hermione!"

"What? Didn't think I would follow through, either?" she laughed.

"Hermione, I tried to stop you, I did!" For some reason, he appeared to be apologizing, though he had no cause to.

"What? You're too late, Harry." She planted her hands on her hips and beamed.

"I can see that," he exclaimed, waving his arms about.

"Hermione, are you barmy?" Ron shouted, blundering into the conversation. "You snogged Malfoy. _Malfoy_!"

Harry shoved Ron out of the way and directly proclaimed, "No, wait, listen, Hermione. I've already kissed Luna." As he said those final words, his cheeks flamed. "I won."

Hermione frowned sceptically. "You're joshing. I've just —"

"No! Honest, I did!"

Hesitantly, she searched his face for hints of mockery, but his wide green eyes hid nothing. And then she knew. She _knew_. Hermione stiffened, and she knew that she must have paled alarmingly, because Harry seized her shoulders to hold her upright.

"Let her go," someone behind her snapped. "She deserves the fall." Hermione gradually twisted her neck to glance behind her, where Malfoy stood tall, though his sleeve was still furiously wiping at his mouth. "What was this bloody bet about?"

Harry set his jaw and straightened up, not as tall, but just as impressive. "This doesn't concern you, Malfoy!"

"Actually, I think it does." Despite the rawness of his lips from the scrubbing, he still painted an intimidating picture. "You three bet on who could snog someone first?"

Harry, Hermione and Ron all exchanged glances, then stared at indistinct spots on the dance floor. None of them said a word.

Malfoy growled in frustration. "I thought so." He dropped his sleeve, and grimaced at the crowd that still lingered. To the three, he simply said, "Then Potter won."

Hermione's jaw dropped in amazement, not only at his aloofness, but at his willingness to help Harry. "What? You saw them kiss?"

"I did," he agreed. His sudden smile was terrifying. Hermione shrank back. He wasn't doing this to help Harry — he was doing it to hurt her, to get her back for the kiss.

"Y-you're lying!" she accused.

Malfoy rolled his eyes at her. "On the dance floor, before. Remember during the school dance when you stomped on my foot?"

With startling clarity. It was the only bit of it she had enjoyed. Hermione attempted to recall everything, every moment — then she understood. He'd pretended to retch because he had seen Harry and Luna kiss, not because they were dancing.

Hermione gasped in horror, and Malfoy slightly inclined his chin. "Looks like you lose," he concluded maliciously.

This was happening too fast. It had taken her all night to work up the courage to snog him, and for what? Why had she even bothered? Why had she even played along with Ron and Harry in the first place? His face, although triumphant, was also marred with fury. Nothing good was going to come from this. "You should have told me!" she wailed.

"Oh? And why _would_ I? I didn't know anything about this . . . this bloody _bet_." As he said it, his figure grew even more threatening. She took an involuntary step back.

"Now you hang about one bleeding minute —"

"You have _no right_ to tell me anything —"

"— if you think you can threaten _me_ —"

"— I can't believe a Gryffindor like _you_ —"

"Miss Granger! Mister Malfoy!"

Both of them froze immediately. Malfoy was staring over her shoulder, mouth still open from speaking, but his eyes betrayed his fear and mortification. Hermione slowly, grudgingly, turned around, only to be greeted by the sight of a fuming Professor McGonagall.

"What is the meaning of this?" the woman demanded, promise of week-long detentions in her eyes.

Uh-oh.

Harry, naturally, leapt to Hermione's defence. "Professor, it was my fault —"

"Spare me the excuses, Mister Potter. I know that you had nothing to do with this. You may leave this area, and take Mister Weasley with you. In fact, all of you should return to your tables for the Headmaster's closing speech." No one moved, so she added, "Now. Off with you."

Hermione tried to take advantage of this invitation, but McGonagall stopped her with a glare. Others filed away leisurely, attempting to catch a snippet of conversation. McGonagall made no such allowance. When, at long last, the area was clear, the professor cross her arms. She then said, very simply, "Explain yourselves."

They both burst into excuses.

"Malfoy has been tormenting me this entire —"

"Granger started this shoddy betting racket and —"

Hermione's Head of House raised her hand to silence them both. "I meant the fight."

"That's what I was talking about," Malfoy exclaimed. He belatedly added, "Professor."

She shrewdly examined him over her spectacles. "Are you accusing Miss Granger of a — what was it? — 'shoddy betting racket' to argue with you loudly during the middle of a school dance? I hardly believe that any student here would bet against the both of you squabbling."

Hermione silently agreed.

"No, of course not, Professor! She made a bet that . . . she would . . . er . . . ." His voice trailed off, and Hermione strongly suspected that the pink in his cheeks was no longer from anger.

"A bet that she would what, Mister Malfoy?" He glanced away, and surreptitiously scratched his cheek to cover the tinge. "Mister Malfoy?"

"She bet that she would . . . er, get me a detention from one of the professors. Without getting herself in trouble."

McGonagall turned to face the other student, whose mouth had fallen open in shock. "Well? Is that true, Miss Granger?"

"I . . . I'm sorry, Professor. I really am." It wasn't necessarily a lie, so she was able to keep her face ashamed as she looked at her shoes. McGonagall watched her closely, a saddened set to her pursed lips.

"I see," said the professor. Her voice was tinged with regret. Then she roused herself enough to coolly glare at the both of them. "I am extremely disappointed in the both of you. You have set a terrible example for the younger years, and furthermore, you have failed to behave as responsible, deserving sixth years. I want you to return to your dormitories immediately. I will determine the appropriate detention assignments with Professor Snape later on."

"You can't make us go back!" Malfoy pressed. "If my father —"

"I will not allow you two to stay."

"But I need to! You can't make me —"

"Out," she seethed finally.

"But —"

" _Out_!"

The fury in her voice halted whatever he had been trying to say. He backed away, his jaw set, and then quietly stalked towards the doors.

"You too, Miss Granger," the Professor added quietly, her eyes closed. Hermione, knowing that there was nothing more that she could do, silently followed Malfoy out the door.

Dumbledore appeared next to McGonagall as the two disappeared down the hall. "Of all the students, I had thought Miss Granger would have handled herself more appropriately," she confessed with a sigh. "They're so similar, I really don't know how they miss it."

"Oh, no, I don't think their tests matched any more than the others," Dumbledore chuckled.

McGonagall was aghast. "You _think_? But then —how —"

"I drew names out of the Sorting Hat," he admitted with a twinkle. "Well, most of them."

She stared at the headmaster for another moment, then she turned her gaze back towards the dance floor, hardly knowing how to look.

In the meantime, Hermione and Malfoy were storming down the hallway side-by-side, both so heated they didn't notice all the paintings watching them like a ticker-tape parade.

"This is all your fault," he spat, striding proudly just off to her right. "How will I ever be clean again? Mum didn't send me with enough toothpaste for _this_!"

"You're worried about cleanliness? I just snogged the biggest plank in the school in front of everyone for nothing!" He sent her a nasty glower, but she didn't care.

"I should have hidden away like Weasley," he grumbled as they rounded the corner together.

"I should have as well," she agreed. "Staring at the back of a stall door would've been much more interesting than staring at your face the entire night." Hermione smirked at him when he didn't reply immediately. "What's wrong? Has the ickle Draco lost his fire?"

"Just shut up, mudblood."

"Oh, that hurt," she sighed. "Even after hearing it every hour since second year, that sting just won't go away!" She pretended to wipe a tear from her eye.

"I said _shut up!_ "

There were a few moments of heated, blissful silence as they sped on, and together they came to a halt in front of Gryffindor tower. Hermione noticed the fat lady was clapping her hands in joy. _Guess she gets a front-row seat_ , Hermione thought wryly as she turned on her heel.

Malfoy was watching the painting with a scowl, until Hermione interrupted his concentration with a loud, "Sod off, for Merlin's sake!"

His eyes snapped to hers, his teeth bared in a near-snarl. ( _Because,_ she assumed rightly, _Malfoy's don't snarl_.) "Don't you _dare_ pretend you're innocent in all of this!"

"What are you on about?"

"You heard me before! All of this is your fault!"

"So I was the one that dumped punch all over you first? I was the one who mercilessly destroyed tonight? Who bloody tormented _myself_ for the past five years?" He had opened his mouth to retort earlier, but not a single sound had escaped his lips, and he looked borderline horrified as she continued. "You'd better listen to me, you snivelling git — the only thing I am guilty of is being a little bit nicer to you. Yes, I did it for a bet, but was I honestly doing you any harm? Was I honestly as bad as you were to me?"

"But my reputation," he spluttered. "You-you made everyone laugh at me and —"

"Oh, bugger me." She had the nerve to laugh, which seemed to frighten him further. "And you, the picture of innocence! Why, you've never done a thing like that to me! How horrible that must have been. I've been such a monster to you, haven't I?"

Apparently that got the point across, because Malfoy shut his mouth, crossed his arms, and positively glared at her.

And then he did the strangest thing.

"I'm . . . I'm . . . ." He trailed off and muttered something unintelligible into his shoulder.

"What was that?" the fat lady asked. Hermione glared at the portrait before she cleared her throat and repeated, "What was that, Malfoy?"

"I said I was bloody sorry!" He didn't sound very sorry, he sounded livid, but he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm his nerves, then he repeated, "I'm sorry." He sounded fairly sincere this time around.

It left her speechless. Was this really Draco Malfoy, or had she hit her head sometime during the night? Subtly, she pinched herself, but the smarting pain told her that this was every bit real.

In the meantime, Malfoy had begun babbling nervously to the floor. "It's . . . it's just . . . it was _you_ , at first. At least, I _thought_ it was. You kept on talking, and smiling and trying to get on my nerves. You were baiting me, I bloody knew it." He grew more frustrated as he spoke, tapping his foot and running a palm through his hair. "So I wanted to make this ball miserable for you. Get some payback. But you . . . you didn't _really_ do anything to deserve that. I mean, it _was_ just talking. I took the bait. And you're right. Even your stupid bet wasn't as bad as what I was going to do. So I'm _sorry_." His last apology was made to his shoes.

"What you were _going_ to do?" she repeated, and her suspicions were confirmed when he flinched.

"That's not important now."

"What do you mean, it's not important?"

"I didn't want to do it anymore, alright?" he burst, forcing her to swallow her words. "I was planning to stay with you the whole night and positively ruin it for you. I was even plotting to show Weasley how horrible of a girlfriend you are, but you beat me to it —"

"Ron and I aren't dating," Hermione said automatically.

He looked even sicker, if that was possible. He may have even turned a little green. "Oh," he mumbled thickly. "Sorry."

Another beat of silence. She cleared her throat uncomfortably. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry as well." She gulped. "For, er, the kiss and all."

"Don't mention it," he grumbled back. "Ever."

There was a short pause.

"Good night," they said together. Then followed a longer, more awkward pause, the kind that only appears when two people who have nothing in common say the exact same thing at once. Just when she felt that she couldn't get any redder in the face, he took an abrupt step forward.

"Truce?" he said, extending his hand.

Hermione hesitated, staring dumbly at his hand as if it were a trick. When she had the courage to lift her chin, she tried her best to read his features, but he refused to meet her eyes. Finally she decided to risk it. She reached out and took his palm in her fingers. "Truce," she agreed, shaking his hand firmly. Malfoy nodded once at the floor, turned on his heel, and stalked away, while she thoughtfully whispered the password and climbed into the common room.

It was empty, as expected. The younger students hardly stayed up past ten, and it was nearing eleven as she climbed the stairs. Hermione undressed with the lights still off, tossing her robes carelessly over an armchair in favour of her well-worn pyjamas. She carefully removed all the makeup, all the pins and ribbons in her hair, yawning every so often. Sleepily, she cleaned and flossed her teeth, and then she finally climbed into her bed, dropping her wand on the nightstand as she scooted further underneath the covers. Only when she sighed and closed her eyes did she realize Malfoy had gone out of his way to walk her back to the Gryffindor common room. It took her a long time to fall asleep.

* * *

Ah, I had way too much fun writing this story. Hope you enjoyed reading! Who knows... maybe there's more to this story after all...? ;) Please review!


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